


whisper and thorn

by wolf_zer0



Series: first meetings [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ALSO VERY IMPORTANT, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Changeling!Skeppy, Demon!Bad, Fae & Fairies, Fae!Dream - Freeform, Fae!Karl Jacobs, Fae!Sapnap, Families of Choice, Forests, Found Family, Gen, Hey ao3 how about you dont use their real names i hate it, Human!George, It's not someone named dont worry, Magic, Minor Character Death, No Smut, Platonic Relationships, Those are very important, Tournaments, no beta we die like wilbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28587660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolf_zer0/pseuds/wolf_zer0
Summary: He doesn't have a name.He doesn't have a house.He doesn't have a family.He only has the forest. And that's all he needs.(Until it's not.)(Until he does.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Karl Jacobs, Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch
Series: first meetings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078364
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	whisper and thorn

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone in this is based on characters or personas, not actual content creators. Should any of the creators mentioned in this express any discomfort in this kind of thing, I will remove this and any other works of this nature immediately. All relationships are platonic. Any and all grammar/editing mistakes and typos are my own and I apologize! Also (just as a precaution) - I do not give any reader permission to send to/talk about my works or this AU with the CC's mentioned. If they find it on their own, that's fine.

He doesn’t have a name.At least, not one he could remember.He tried, sometimes, to shift through memories.Tried to grasp something, anything, that wasn’t static.That wasn’t painful.Nothing sticks.Nothing stays.

Nothing but the forest.

He doesn’t have a name, but he does have the forest.It is always moving, always changing, always living.He feels the forest under his skin, thrumming through his veins.He feels every fallen tree, every shift in the earth, every thing that enters and exists. 

He doesn’t have a home, not like he sees others have.Instead of four walls of stone and wood, he has towering mountains and trees.Instead of a roof, he has the vast canopy of green leaves.He likes green.The torn and tattered remains of fabric stretched across thin shoulders are green.Green is home. 

He doesn’t have a family.He may have.Once.But not anymore.The first thing he can remember is the shell of a house, empty and smoldering.There wasn’t anyone else there.He was alone.He _is_ alone.But he’s not.He has the forest.

The forest sings to him.He hears crescendo of berries and fruits as they ripen to sweet perfection.He hears the bubbling rush of fresh water tumbling from high atop the mountain.He hears the dim percussion, the heart of the earth itself beneath his bare feet, matching the rhythm of the beat in his chest. 

He hears the dissonant pounding of footsteps. Crouched on a log, fingertips fiddling with the decaying bark, his head tilts in the direction he hears it from.

There’s a child running through the trees, laughter ringing through the clear summer air. 

He’s seen children before.He thinks _he_ is a child.But don’t children have families?Homes?He doesn’t, so he’s not sure.He stares at the newcomer, confused.Where did he come from?

The newcomer stops, back towards him.He turns.

And looks right at him.

For a moment, the forest is silent.There’s no music, no movement, nothing.Just a single note, high and unwavering, like the dark brown eyes of this new boy. 

There’s something scratching at the back of his head, trying to tell him something, but he doesn’t listen. 

The note breaks.He runs.He thinks the boy shouts at him, but he doesn’t care to listen.He doesn’t want to listen.He just wants the forest. 

He doesn’t mean to see the boy again.In fact, he makes it his goal _not_ to see him again.His ears are strained at all times, listening for any change, any shift in the life of the forest.A sudden call of birds.The rustling of grass.Anything.It works.Until it doesn’t.

He should have remembered the traps.The angry metallic hum pierces the chaotic calm of the forest.But he’s so focused on listening for the boy, he misses the sound of the wire and metal as it tightens around his foot. 

He falls with a yelp, chin pressing into the earth painfully as his leg is wrenched upward unnaturally.He scrambles to free himself, fingers digging at his ankle, to no avail. 

The forest falls away as he is dragged upward.His skin feels too big, empty space left in his bones where movement once was.He can’t feel it.He can’t feel it.Hecan’tfeelitheca _n’tfeelithecan’tfeelit_ -

He doesn’t hear the boy this time, though the boy still makes no effort to mask his movements.Panic clouds his vision, clogs his hearing.He catches a faint buzzing just beyond his awareness as a featherlight touch brushes the wire.He jerks once.His breath catches and tears build as the metal tightens.The buzzing remains, oddly comforting in its consistency. 

The hold on his ankle releases, and he tumbles to the dirt in a heap.His chest is heaving, barely able to breathe, and tears cover his face.His eyes blur and all he can see is color.Green, green, green, green —

Brown.He only sees brown.Brown that morphs into dark hair, leaves and twigs caught in the mess.Brown that shifts into dark eyes, warm with concern and care.Brown that solidifies into the boy.The boy who he _was afraid of—_ was saved by. 

The boy’s mouth moves, noises spilling from his mouth like the waterfall’s he used to sleep near.It makes no sense to him, and yet it does.He knows it the same way he knows the forest.The humming beneath his skin grows where the boy is touching him, where the boy is wrapping a clean white cloth around his bloody ankle.The boy pulls him up quickly, ducking under his shoulder to support him when he nearly collapses.He lets the boy.He doesn’t know why. 

The boy leads him to a house, a cozy looking stack of stones and woods that only feels empty and lifeless to him.The stone is dead.The wood is dead.The lack of life scares him.He refuses to enter, refuses to be cut off from the forest, not again.The boy says something again, tries to pull him closer.He resists.He can’t lose it, he can’t.Something shifts in the boy’s eyes and he huffs, chest vibrating against his side, and pulls him higher up on his shoulder. 

The boy leads him to a cluster of trees, grown together in a way that makes a small, dry hollow. He curls up after the boy lowers him down gently.His ankle throbs painfully and he tries to fight back the flinch.He fails.The boy says something quickly before dashing away. 

He feels cold.He feels empty.But the forest is still there.The thrumming is still there.Why is he empty?

_Why?_

The boy comes back, a strange looking bundle stuffed in his arms.The cold ebbs.The emptiness fades.His head feels light.It feels right.Safe.

_Whole._

He floats in the space between sleeping and waking, hyperaware yet distant from the boy.There’s chatter that drifts in front of his face that he doesn’t quite understand and doesn’t try to grasp at.His ankle stings, then doesn’t.The boy speaks, then doesn’t. 

He’s awake, then isn’t. 

The boy doesn’t leave him alone.He’s always somewhere behind him, talking and laughing and not making any sense.He doesn’t acknowledge his presence, even as he stomps through the underbrush and crushes the flowers below his heels.He thinks he glares, once, after the boy snaps a branch of a nearby tree and he feels the pain deep and sharp in his chest.The boy walks more carefully after that. 

They boy keeps visiting and visiting and visiting.He’s always moving, always talking, always living.After a while, he wants to understand.He forces the boy to stop and teach him.The boy does. 

He doesn’t know why, but he starts to trust the boy - _Sapnap_ , the boy squawks one day when he finally starts to learn his language.There’s something in him that won’t let him walk away.He doesn’t know if he even wants to in the first place. 

Sapnap doesn’t care about his lack of shoes. ( _For often than not, he’s barefoot next to him, splashing away in a mud puddle_ ).Sapnap doesn’t mind the way he pulls his ratty hood up, the way he tugs his collar to hide his face.He knows he’s not… normal looking.He remembers way people sneer if he forgets to hide.He knows Sapnap should be the same.But he never is.( _He doesn’t even comment)._ He feels comfortable around him, safe, in almost every way.

Except one. 

Sapnap is Sapnap.He is…

He doesn’t know who he is.He’s never had to care before.The forest doesn’t care about names, about self.It lives and grows and dies as a unit.He didn’t care before, when the forest was all he had.But now…

Now he wants to be _something_.Something more than a child in green, living in green.He wants to be someone.

He doesn’t tell Sapnap.He doesn’t know how to tell him.They continue to meet.(Never near Sapnap’s house, not after his mother screamed and nearly skewered him when he tried to follow Sapnap inside).They meet by the river, by the lightning-split oak, by the rock shaped like a wolf.They meet and he listens and he wants to tell him _so badly_ but he can’t.So he doesn’t.

Until Sapnap asks him.It should be so easy.Three words. _I am … something_.But he’s not.He has nothing.He tells him as much, throat raw.The thrumming under his skin becomes painful. 

Sapnap’s hand on his arm isn’t.It’s warm. 

He offers him options, laying them out on the soft, dew-covered grass.He sorts through them, testing them on his tongue, looking to his … friend for guidance. 

He picks one, and it feels right as it tumbles from his mouth.Sapnap smiles brightly when he says it to him.

_My name is Dream.I’m Dream._

Dream grows, and so does Sapnap.He learns, and so does Sapnap.They learn of the world beyond the forest border.They learn of the great oceans, the vast deserts, the sprawling cities, the sheer number of people.They learn of magic, great and small.No matter what they do, they do it together. 

When Sapnap sheepishly hands him a white mask with a crudely drawn smile, he feels the forest around them sing in tune with his heart.He offers a thin strip of white cloth in return, so similar to the one used so long ago, yet so much more valuable than anything he can say with words.And he swears he feels the forest’s voice change, a new, deeper note of gratitude adding to the chorus, when his friend accepts.He thinks something has slotted into place, and he doesn’t want to let it go. 

He doesn’t know exactly how everything happened, only that it did.

He’s waiting for Sapnap to show, dozing in a clearing with his back to the earth and face to the sky.He hasn’t seen his friend in days, but he’s fine with waiting.Everything is quiet.Calm.Peaceful.The forest is humming around him. 

Then it _shrieks_. 

He bolts upright, calm melting away and replaced by panic and _pain_. 

_So much pain._

It tugs at his very core, screaming _pain pain danger hurt fire hurry HURRY_ ** _PAIN._**

He doesn’t think.He runs.

The forest opens up in response to his panic.The earth shifts beneath his feet.Roots curl back to avoid catching his ankles.Trees move to open new paths.Birds call in the distance as he nears the spot.He knows this spot.He knows that house. 

The house is on fire. 

Tall, red and orange flames lick at the leaves above it, and the trees shudder.Patches of once green grass are burned black and brittle.An outline of something he doesn’t want to recognize but does lays in the scorched grass.There’s a crowd of people he doesn’t know, dressed in black and gray, gathered around the burning building.There are weapons in their hands.A small figure stands at the center of the mass, covered in soot and hands lit aflame. 

Sapnap’s eyes are smoldering embers, glowing in the afternoon light.He wears a snarl, the beginnings of fangs glinting as he growls lowly.Dream doesn’t breech the tree line, frozen in fear and rage.There’s a dissonant note ringing in the air, familiar and not.A figure swings a blade down, slicing through the dirty band tied around Sapnap’s forehead. 

The note continues. 

Dream _shatters_. 

He doesn’t remember the earth twisting to cover Sapnap.He doesn’t remember the ring of stone that rises, forming a barricade.He doesn’t remember the thorns that twist between, razor sharp thorns multiplying.

He does remember the feeling of blood puddling turning the dirt beneath his feet to mud.He does remember skulls crushed beneath his fingers.He does remember the snap of bone, the scream of pain, the rush of heat.The thrill of the hunt. _Of the kill_. 

He stands alone, surrounded by what remains of the crowd.The earth releases Sapnap, carefully depositing him next to Dream.They don’t look at each other.Sapnap reaches and clutches at Dream’s hand.Dream doesn’t let go.It starts to rain, droplets hissing on the fire.

They stand, blood-soaked and soot-stained, in the rain.They hold each other tightly.They don’t let go.

_Brothers walk into the forest.They never look back._

He doesn’t know how long they spent alone in the forest, but the years pass anyway.Both change, growing into lanky limbs and boundless magic.Dream learns to tighten his reach, to pull the scope of his awareness down to a pinpoint, to lessen the input of noise.The forest still sings, but he is the conductor.Sapnap learns how his flames wax and wane through the seasons, to conserve his heat through the winter and to restrain the inferno in the summer.They spar and clash, chasing one another through the forest with the same childlike glee but sharpened with age and reckless with confidence. 

The whispers start late in the autumn.The Year of Challenge had arrived.They heard of the festival held every century to test the might and the will of the king.Whoever emerged victorious could claim crown and throne for themselves.

Dream feels the forest’s song change, once careful and chaotic, to a frenzied and wild drumbeat of war.The thrumming nearly tears skin from bone.It urges him to claim what was rightfully _his_. 

He knows Sapnap feels it too, already familiar with the way their power has entangled and formed an unbreaking web. 

They make a promise, curled up in the darkness of the canopy, that no matter which of them succeeds, they would never leave.They were a pair.Inseparable. 

The city is alive much like the forest that surrounds it, but in a very, very different way.Dream feels the way the thrumming becomes almost non-existent.He tries not to let the cloud of panic overtake him, not when they’re so close to what they want.What they _need_. 

He doesn’t remember much of the tournament.It rushes around him in a haze of action.He wields his blade like an extension of his arm.He feels each movement of his enemy before it happens.He cuts them down without remorse.He feels entirely at ease.Natural.

And a scream changes everything.

There’s no freezing of time.No moment of recognition.No note hangs in the air.He knows the scream as soon as it sounds.

He charges.

The challenger stands over the broken form of his brother, curved sword dripping with blood.He does not hesitate to cut their head from their shoulders, reveling in the slick _slide-thud_ as it hits the ground.No one else is standing.

The crowd cheers for their new king.He does not care for them.He cares only for one person. 

He doesn’t care for tradition, for the pride of the Fair Folk, for the strength of their image.He doesn’t care about the Lords and Ladies of the Courts, the politics of the outside world, the gold and jewels and luxuries that are his by right. 

He waits by his brother’s bed, by the only person who he chose and who chose him in return, and does not leave. 

Courtiers and chancellors and counselors all try to pry him away.He is king, he is meant to rule.He refuses.He will not rule without him at his side. 

It takes weeks of hoping for miracles and praying to gods he’s not sure exist until Sapnap opens his eyes.Dream buries his face into his shoulder and cries.They do not separate for what feels like years.

Life changes, and yet it doesn’t.Dream embraces his role as King, and he doesn’t.Sapnap becomes Lord of the Summer Court, and he doesn’t.They grow, and they stay the same.

Dream continues to search for the thrill of the hunt, of the chase.When he no longer finds it with Sapnap alone, he searches for something new.Something more. 

He finds it hidden in the Royal Library.A Night Court Fae, brought to be the Royal Historian, grins at him without reservation, without the fear and awe most gave without a second thought, and offers his name.He likes Karl, before he can even learn what he can do.

_(Karl asks him if he wants this, wants to feel powerless.He does.The forest goes quiet, quieter than he’s ever heard it before, and something in him breaks.His head is clear.He feels like his skin isn’t filled to bursting.He folds Karl into his circle without thought.)_

He finds it tucked away in a secret clearing near the Eastern border of the forest.A tiny cabin, surrounded by trees and flowers.A Changeling with glittering, diamond-hard scales and his demon companion are startled by his appearance, but not frightened.The demon merely scolds him for not calling ahead as the changeling laughs.

_(Skeppy doesn’t want anything to do with the Kingdom.They abandoned him to the outside, and Dream understands.He visits when the Courts grow too stuffy, too closed off, to much and joins on his friend on adventures.He is not loyal to Dream because he is King.He is loyal because he is Dream.)_

_(Bad is kind and sharp and knows more than he lets anyone know.He is tight-lipped about his past before Skeppy and Dream does not blame him.They whisper late at night about magic and madness and the truth about power.Bad does not see Dream as the Master of the Forest, for there is no way to master a force as dangerous as his nature.He helps him hold tight to the edges of himself when it threatens to tear him apart.)_

He runs from them, laughter weaving through the trees.He feels the way Sapnap pounds his feet on the dirt, hears the way Skeppy jumps from tree to tree, knows the way Bad switches his rhythm to try to hide his location.Karl is nearby, pressing down on his power to keep things interesting.His blood sings for the hunt. 

He pushes through brush, leaps over rivers, running in circles just to hear the cries of outrage and disbelief.He taunts them because he can, because this is his domain and he knows everything that happens. 

He doesn’t know who this man is. 

He stands panting, barefoot, mask covered in mud and hands riddled with scrapes, at the man kneeling in the grass.The man is humming to himself as he looks at the flowers, not even acknowledging Dream’s presence. 

He doesn’t understand.He feels every movement, every shift, every change in the ebb and flow of magic in the entire forest.And yet, he senses nothing from this man.He feels nothing but an empty space.

It’s _fascinating_.

He doesn’t hesitate in introduce himself to the man, to George.George doesn’t seem alarmed in the slightest at Dream’s appearance or his invitation to join him for a walk.They talk, and as they talk Dream feels the thrumming rise despite Karl’s intervention.When they meet back with the group, all frustrated and annoyed at being ignored, he offers George a place to stay.He feels Sapnap’s interest, Karl’s confusion, Skeppy’s curiosity, and Bad’s amusement.He ignores the way the thrumming intensifies when George accepts.

George blends in seamlessly and flourishes in his new home.Dream sees his wonder at the variety of fauna and preens. _(Sapnap digs an elbow into his side and snickers)._

But as time passes, Dream notices changes.The way George finds a single gray hair.The wayhe gathers a few smile lines around his eyes.The way he wears his humanity so blatantly, and yet Dream missed every sign.And now he’s running out of time.

He runs to Sapnap.They cannot lose a piece of themselves.Not now, not when they finally know what it’s like to feel complete.

They dig through old manuscripts, pages stained and torn with time and age.They consult every Court, every living Historian, every herbalist they can get their hands on.They beg Bad to help.After hours of begging, bribery, and tears, he gives in.They don’t tell him why they’re so desperate.They don’t have the time. 

( _Bad doesn’t tell them he knows.He doesn’t tell them he’s been through this before.He doesn’t tell them the average life expectancy for Higher Demons, or the average life expectancy for Changelings, or the reason he came across such forbidden knowledge.Some things are better left unsaid.)_

They find the right components, the right time frame, the right moment.They complete the ritual in silence, staring at the vials in hand.The liquid is silvery in the moonlight.It worked.They breathe. _It worked_. 

Dream invites George to the castle for lunch, slipping the liquid into his drink before he arrives.The conversation flows, jokes and stories bouncing off one another easily.He watches carefully as George drains his drink, commenting on the sweet flavor.Both sip their own and feel the tension drain from their bodies when know it works, power settling deep in their cores. 

One will not go without the others.All three will survive.He will make sure of it. 

He didn’t have a name before. 

He didn’t have a home before. 

He didn’t have a family before.

He has all three now. 

And he doesn’t plan on ever letting go.

_(George doesn’t tell them he knows.They aren’t the most subtle.He doesn’t approve of how they went behind his back, of how they did not think to give him a choice.He doesn’t approve, but he understands.He knows fear when he sees it.And while he doesn’t approve, he does appreciate having a family that cares.In their own unusual way.)_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still in denial about the recent streams don't look at me. I live in SBI FD Land and nothing can hurt me.
> 
> This took way longer than I thought it would. But it's also way longer that I expected, which I guess is a plus! I'll be writing the BBH&Skeppy first meeting soon enough, but I think Tubbo's UNBELIEVABLY COMPLICATED FAMILY DYNAMICS (seriously who gave this child that many parental figures?? and sibling figures??) are up next in my list. If someone wants a longer version of Dream taking George back to the kingdom let me know. It's on the list, but I'll push it up if people want it.
> 
> Also, I should mention I have a twitter now! Find me at @wolfzer02 (someone took my username dammit). I'm usually more active there than on my tumblr. If you like this series, feel free to follow for live updates of my writing process, other random moments of my life, and the google doc with the AU's major notes. 
> 
> I have a plot starting to form, but if anyone has any ideas for character relationships or world-building questions hit me up and I'm more than willing to give them a listen. 
> 
> (PS: if people want to play in my sandbox AKA FSIS au, you're more than welcome!)


End file.
